


Lodestone

by Nununununu



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: (possibly), 5 Times, Angst, Character Death, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: There's a stake set into the ground too close to the fire pit for comfort, the ground displaced from a struggle. Blood soaked into the sand.The remains of a red scarf among the embers.Five times Din was too late, plus one time he wasn't.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 31
Kudos: 106





	Lodestone

**Author's Note:**

> TW for that character death, some violence and threat to unnamed children. Rated mostly to be safe but ymmv. Also known as '5 times Din failed to take his helmet off, plus 1 time he might actually manage to'

1

“ _Tried to stop them, but – taken Mos Pelgo. Everyone –”_ Cobb’s voice rings with urgency despite the terrible signal, “ _I can’t – I have to do_ something _, but – Need you –”_

“Hang on,” Din leans forwards unconsciously as if that will somehow help him hear better, “Cobb, hang on. I’m on my way.” He gets halfway through saying this before the signal drops and he’s left talking to dead air. It’s debatable whether Cobb heard any of it.

The journey down to Tatooine feels like it takes forever and no time at once.

No child to look out for now, on what will be his fourth time in the small mining town since – no, he can’t think about Grogu, can’t think about any of that, not right now. No need – no _right_ – no need to put the helmet on either, except for the knowledge he’ll be walking into a fight and it still offers protection, even if he doesn’t deserve it.

Even if he doesn’t deserve it, he’s not the one he needs to protect.

His hands are shaking a little with adrenalin, with not knowing what’s happened. What’s happening now. Din strives to shove down his feelings, grabs the helmet, puts it on without letting himself think about how it doesn’t seem to sit right anymore, about how it pinches his ears – something he never noticed until he took it off and then left it off, after saying farewell to the child, which he’s _still not thinking about either_. Doesn’t let himself acknowledge how the taste and smell of the air has come to seem indescribably different once it’s on. How the sound of his breathing, too fast, echoes in his ears.

None of that matters.

Moving quickly, he checks his blaster, picks up the spear, eyes the darksaber, picks it up also, latches it onto his belt. No idea what he’s flying into, except that Cobb needs him. Cobb. Din had already been en route to Tatooine – they’d been planning to spend some time together, Din between jobs and with a new ship in reasonable shape and Cobb agreeing to take a few days off for once. Din had been tentatively hoping to urge him onto said new ship and up off-world. To take him wherever he might go. Or just be together with him in Mos Pelgo or wherever else planetside, if he didn’t want to leave – that also sounded good.

Just to be together with him.

Not that they were _together_ , as it were, not really – or maybe sort of? Each time they’d managed to snatch half a day or so to spend together previously it had seemed a little more like it. Like perhaps they could be. Din had been starting to catch the little looks Cobb gave him more and more often, in return to the little looks Din aimed at him likewise, something warm and fragile and flowering unfurling that bit further in his chest each time.

He’d dared to hope that this time, now they finally _had_ time –

They don’t have time. He gets back to the cockpit as Tatooine fills the viewscreen and rattles down towards Mos Pelgo in a landing so hurried it’s close to out of control. It doesn’t matter – it doesn’t matter either. Long before landing, he can see the smoke. Can see the broken houses, the wreck that used to be the cantina. Can see a slender figure – not Cobb – running out of one of the few remaining buildings, the external walls of the school streaked from blaster fire. Other faces peer cautiously out from behind the half opened door as he lands as close as possible, leaps down before waiting for the ramp to fully open.

The woman he’ll only later remember is Jo nearly falls as she skids to a stop in front of him.

“You –” She’s grasping her blaster so hard she’ll never be able to fire it; her hands are shaking far too much to succeed. Face searching his helmet like there’s an expression to find there, stymied by the fact she doesn’t have a name to use. She swallows, moves past that, “They. They’ve got him. The marshal. He got them to agree to take him in return for leaving us be. Please –”

A few others are edging cautiously out of the building now, all of them far too young or too old, no in between. The reason for this lies in the bodies unmoving on the ground, limbs arranged like they’re all pointing off in wildly differing directions, half covered over already with sand.

“Please,” Jo gets out again, “I tried to stop him, but he pushed me inside with the rest and –” She wrenches a breath in, “There might. There might just be time.”

“Tell me where they took him,” Is all Din can get out. Feels almost stuck, feet too heavy in the sand, time dragging like it’s slowed down around him, things just slightly but jarringly out of sync. The stink of the dead all up in his helmet; he’s grateful almost to the point of tears, suddenly, that one of the oldest ones sharply ushers back in a tiny face that tries to peek outside.

“To the north, I think,” Jo sets her jaw like she’s planning to insist on coming with him.

“Stay here. Help protect –” _what is left of_ “– your people,” Din tells her. The old one, taking the blaster from the younger woman, nods to them both, while the grim acceptance on her weathered face tells the truth that neither Din nor Jo want to believe.

_He’s already gone._

“He’s our people,” Jo says instead of this, very quietly, something bleak behind the anger and fear in her tone.

_He’s my people too,_ Din doesn’t let himself say, tries not to let himself think. Already turning away to claim a damaged speeder that looks like it’ll at least get him somewhere before it explodes. Heading out in search of Cobb even if it feels like his heart has already been torn out of him and tossed down there on the sand.

He makes it out to the wreckage of a crash, to the signs of another fight, to the sight of more bodies scattered around. No signs of survivors, no signs of scavengers – yet. No sign of Cobb.

Din remembers how Cobb said he had lived against all odds, those years ago in the desert. Keeps on searching, beyond the point when the speeder just sighs and sets itself down gently instead of blowing up.

The suns go down, the moons go up. Everything becomes very cold. He keeps on searching on foot.

Nothing, still nothing. At some point he takes the helmet off, like he never did manage to in the other man’s presence. Shouts Cobb’s name; strains his ears after. Any answer lost to the dark.

2

“ _I’m sorry – I know we should have held out,_ I _should have held out better, but they overwhelmed us. I tried to stop them, but –”_ Cobb’s voice rings with urgency despite the terrible signal, “ _I can’t – I have to do_ something _–”_

“Hang on,” Din leans forwards unconsciously as if that will somehow help him hear better, “Cobb, hang on. I’m on my way. I’m coming for you.” He gets halfway through saying this before the signal drops and he’s left talking to dead air. It’s debatable whether Cobb heard any of it.

The journey down to Tatooine feels like it takes forever and no time at once.

Din leaps from the ramp before it’s finished lowering, speaks to the old woman and Jo. Takes the speeder.

Finds the remains of a rudimentary camp as the first of the suns goes down; the bandits gone, leaving behind them signs they’d been holding someone prisoner. There’s a stake set into the ground too close to the fire pit for comfort, the ground displaced from a struggle. Blood soaked into the sand.

The remains of a red scarf among the embers.

Din finds Cobb some distance away out behind some boulders. On his back, one arm over his chest like he was trying to hold warmth in as he bled out. Trying to hold his life in. Marks left from self-defence and retaliation on his hands; bruises from rope burn darkening his wrists and his head tipped back.

Eyes still open on the stars like maybe he was looking for Din.

Din sits down beside him for a while. It feels strangely wrong that the other man, who always had something to say in life, should be so silent now. Din wants to take his gloves off, wants to touch him. He never did when Cobb was alive. Wanted to though, wanted to so very much. Had come to think – to hope – to dare to believe – Cobb wanted that too. They had almost touched a couple of times, always Cobb the one to instigate it, always Din standing there desperately hoping for it to connect but unable to say as much.

Always Cobb’s hand going through his hair or rubbing his beard or the back of his neck instead, like he second guessed himself at the last moment. Or perhaps he second guessed Din.

“I wanted you to,” Din manages to tell him now. His voice like a stranger’s and so very quiet. _I wanted you to touch me._

_I wanted you._

He takes off his helmet. If he hadn’t taken the armour from Cobb, if he hadn’t deprived the man from the ability to defend his town without risking his life, then perhaps this wouldn’t have happened.

The suns go down, the moons go up. When Din finally touches him, Cobb feels very cold.

3

“ _I’m sorry, Din. I know we should have –_ _better. I tried to – but –”_ Cobb’s voice rings with urgency despite the terrible signal, “ _I can’t –”_ And then this rings out, clear, _“I need you.”_

“Hang on,” Din leans forwards unconsciously as if that will somehow help him hear better, “Cobb, hang in there. I’m on my way. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” He gets halfway through saying this before the signal drops and he’s left talking to dead air.

“Cobb,” Din finds himself saying anyway, as if it could somehow get through to him, “ _Cobb_.”

The journey down to Tatooine feels like it takes forever and no time at once.

He spots the signs of a rudimentary camp some distance out from Mos Pelgo, well over a dozen bandits scattering as he wrenches the ship in above them, blasts no few of them from the air – overkill really, although it doesn’t feel like it, the force of the ship’s guns stabbing great holes into the ground. Too dangerous to continue until he’s got all of them, though – there’s a tall, slender figure slumped where he’s sitting, hands tied behind him to a stake driven deep in the ground by the fire. Head tipped forwards, hanging low over his knees. Blood soaking into the sand.

Din leaps from the ramp before it’s finished lowering, coming down almost on top of the largest group of the bandits who are yelling and firing back at the ship. It’s all noise to him. Din guts the first one with the spear, a messy kill, doesn’t care. Gets the next in the throat. Thinks of Cobb, goes for his blaster, throws the spear at a third instead.

In the corner of his visor he catches sight of a red scarf burning on the fire.

The remaining bandits are rallying. Din kills them one after another, his mind barely registering attack and counterattack, lets his hands take over. Cobb was right. He is good at killing.

So was the knife buried in between Cobb’s ribs.

Din lands heavily on his knees next to him when the last bandit is gurgling out the last of their life behind him. Almost afraid to touch Cobb for a moment. At this angle Din can’t see his face, the other man’s eyes hidden by his hair.

“Cobb,” He finds himself saying again, just as uselessly, “ _Cobb_. I’m here.”

There are marks left from self-defence and retaliation on Cobb’s hands from the battle back in Mos Pelgo; bruises from rope burn darkening his wrists when Din cuts him free. Catches Cobb in his arms, drawing his head onto his lap.

Cobb feels very heavy somehow, heavier than Din expected. He fumbles a glove off with hands trembling so much he nearly shouts in frustration, then hesitates when he goes to brush back that soft fall of hair.

He wants – wanted – _wants_ to touch it so much. To touch Cobb so much. But Cobb –

He’s still warm. Cobb’s still warm. Cooling fast, but there’s just a trace of it left when Din brushes those trembling fingers over the other man’s forehead. Chances are he was still alive while Din was fighting the bandits. Chances are he finished bleeding out while Din was right there.

Dealing out death in one too many way.

“No _,_ ” Din tears off his helmet, throws it somewhere behind him – he doesn’t care, “ _No_.”

It doesn’t rain in the desert. His face is wet all the same.

4

“ _I can’t –”_ Cobb’s voice rings with urgency despite the terrible signal. And then this rings out, clear, _“I need you.”_

“Cobb,” Any other words Din could say dry up in his throat as he’s left talking to dead air, “ _Cobb_.”

He leaps from the ramp before it’s finished lowering, coming down almost on top of the largest group of the bandits who are yelling and firing back at the ship. It’s all noise to him. Din guts the first one with the spear, a messy kill, doesn’t care. Gets the next in the throat. Thinks of Cobb, goes for his blaster, throws the spear at a third instead.

Thinks he hears Cobb make a faint sound behind him, despite everything.

Killing the bandits is taking too long. Din shoots several more, transfers his blaster to his other hand and moves his dominant hand to his belt, fingers going around the hilt of the darksaber.

“Cobb,” Din lands heavily on his knees next to him when the last bandit is gurgling out the last of their life behind him. Almost afraid to touch Cobb for a moment, “ _Cobb_. I’m sorry. I’m here.”

At this angle Din can’t see his face, the other man’s eyes hidden by his hair as Din cuts him free. Catches Cobb in his arms, drawing his head onto his lap. He fumbles a glove off with hands trembling so much he nearly shouts in frustration, then hesitates when he goes to touch.

“Din?”

This is barely a whisper. So quiet Din almost doesn’t hear it at first, but then Cobb stirs very slightly. A shudder going through him, one of pain.

“Din, you’re here.”

“I – am,” Din can’t speak for some reason, has to push the words through a throat that feels closed over. Repeats it, “I’m here.”

“Turn me over?” A pause lengthening each time between the words; laboured breaths. Blood soaking into Din’s clothes.

“Of course,” Din is whispering as well. He gets him over as carefully as he can, gritting his teeth in order to do it; at the fact this causes more pain. But Cobb seems easier when he’s on his back, one arm over himself like he’s trying to hold warmth in. Trying to hold his life in. Din puts his own hands over the hole in Cobb’s chest, tries to help.

“I need to –” He doesn’t carry a med kit on him. Has one on the ship. He’ll have to let go of Cobb to get it. Knows without doubt that, by the time he gets back, Cobb will be dead.

A shudder from Cobb almost like a laugh, then a gasp, his gaze wandering up to the stars.

“Stay,” He struggles to wet parched lips, “You know, I took down no – no few of those bastards in Mos Pelgo, before you. Before you turned up. They’ll be. They’ll be all right, won’t they. The folks back home.”

“Of course they will be,” What else can Din say. His throat, his mouth, his chest, his everything feels raw, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Anything in his power he can do to make this true, he will.

“Thank you,” Cobb spasms and coughs. There’s a lot of blood. Din wants to hold his hand. Wants to keep feeling the heartbeat battling to continue beneath his palms. Wants that more than anything.

Wishes for another hand so he could rip his helmet off. Desperately wanting to see his face properly.

Desperately wanting Cobb to see his. Wishes he’d shown him those four visits ago, right from the start.

Had Cobb wanted that too? Din can’t deny the awful certainty that the answer is yes.

“Cobb –”

_I need you. Please don’t leave._

“Din –” Cobb might say something else after this. Despite the audio receptors in his helmet, Din can’t make it out.

It’s only later when he’s making the long slow trek to Mos Pelgo on foot in the gathering dark as the second sun sinks, Cobb’s body cradled in his arms, that he realises what the other man said.

“ _I’m glad you’re here_.”

5

“Cobb,” Any other words Din could say dry up in his throat as he’s left talking to dead air, “ _Cobb_.” Cursing, he grapples with the radio, twisting the controls almost until it breaks. Gets a fuzz of static, then –

“ _Think I have them_ – _be all right,_ ” A note of growing confidence to the other man’s voice, “ _Don’t you worry yourself about rushing here, partner, you just –_ ” His tone changes abruptly, “ _Oh wait, shit, there are more of them – appeared from nowhere – they’re targeting the school_ –”

The sound of sudden blasters firing drowns out his words. The sound of heavier artillery along with it, of screams.

Din has to breathe in carefully, thrown for a second back to a time when he was much younger, when his parents –

He rattles down towards Mos Pelgo in a landing so hurried it’s close to out of control, bringing the ship down as close as he can get to the main street. Leaps from the ramp before it’s finished lowering, shooting at the bandits furthest from the group of frightened children huddled in front of the school. Small faces scared but not panicking, holding onto each other for comfort. Someone’s drilled them well.

This is only a small comfort given the half dozen bandits standing over them. Only a small comfort given the presence of further bandits at the door to the school, explosives in hand, and the fear and helpless anger on the faces of the adult citizens of the town as they stand crowded together inside the building.

All of them in there, by the look of it, aside from the handful of bodies behind him, thankfully out of sight of the kids. All of them except for Cobb, who is standing not far off from Din, blood on his knuckles and more on his temple, the bodies of several bandits fallen around him, his blaster some distance away from his feet as if kicked.

The muzzle of another blaster jammed up under his chin.

His hands open, empty; the point of a knife pressed more gently in amongst the fabric of his red shirt, tucked between two of his ribs. Only the smallest effort required from the bandit holding both weapons to push the blade in.

“Hey partner,” Cobb’s mouth still crooks into a tiny smile just for Din, although there’s something in his eyes much like regret. Determination as well, “We were just having a little chat about how to resolve this here situation.”

His stance remains alert, watchful, his attention sharp on the bandits, the kids. The tip of his trigger finger crooking just a little, a sign just for Din.

_Shoot him._

Din can’t afford to show he’s seen this, can’t afford to shake his head.

If he shoots the man holding the blaster to the underside of Cobb’s chin, there’s every likelihood the bandit’s own hand will tighten on the trigger. The expressions on the faces of the bandits holding the kids captive betray no indecision; there’s no kindness or mercy to be had there. Jo, just visible through the school’s window, is holding a visibly broken arm to her chest. Someone’s balled-up jacket held to the bloodied head of one of Mos Pelgo’s oldest inhabitants.

Cobb gives Din another look when he doesn’t act, almost fondly exasperated. His fingers twitch again.

_Don’t worry about me, just go right ahead and do it,_ He might as well say. But Din’s never been a gambling man and he watches the way the bandit’s fingers shift on the handle of the knife, the blade snagging on the fabric until it threatens to tear. Thinks about soft flesh beneath a red shirt unprotected by armour; thinks about warmth hidden there, unbidden. His own fingers seeking to twitch.

Knowing this will be seen by the bandit as well as Cobb, he holds them still. No whistling birds left to him, all used in the fight to save the kid those months ago and no armourer to make new. No right to them left anyway, for all his many regrets.

He regrets most, in this moment, that they might have provided a way out of this.

“Shut it, you,” The leader of the bandits jams the blaster in up under Cobb’s chin all the harder, making Cobb grimace, his gaze shifting over to the rough hand one grim-faced man gets in a young teenager’s hair – the threat not carried through with yet, but most certainly there. The teen utterly still, ashen-faced.

Cobb’s eyes flicker again – to Din, back to the kid. Din can’t respond this time either, can’t show he understands. But he does, he does.

_Concentrate on the kids,_ Cobb might as well be shouting at him, _Not me._

“I have something you want,” Din tells the leader of the bandits. _Just as you have something – some_ one _– I want too._

“Yeah?” The man’s gaze is already running greedily over the beskar, “Yeah, I’m thinking you have.” He jerks his chin over at the kids, “I’m thinking you’re going to hand it to us.”

“Let the children go inside the school with the adults first,” Din leans down just a little to place his blaster on the ground and then the spear, “They don’t need to see this.”

“ _No_ ,” Gaze fierce on Din, Cobb shakes his head just a little. _Din, no._

“And the marshal too,” Din doesn’t react to him, “He doesn’t need to be here for this either.”

“You’re right that you’re the one we’re after,” The leader grins unpleasantly as he gestures for the other bandits to start herding the frightened kids into the school, “Funny what you can hear when you hack local comms.”

“What,” Cobb looks just as furious as Din feels, “ _You set this all up to get to him?_ ”

“Yeah, funny that,” The leader shoves Cobb hard enough to send him stumbling to his knees, his attention still on Din, “Now give the armour here.”

“Fuck that,” Cobb’s already moving, kicking a boot hard into the back of the man’s knees, making him stagger forwards and curse – and Din gets the blaster up off the ground and a bolt in between the bandit’s eyes.

He’s dead before he collapses down in the sand. Then a glint of gunfire lights up the corner of Din’s visor, hidden from his peripheral vision by the helmet until too late, and Cobb gasps in pain, quickly cut off.

“ _Cobb_ –”

“Just see to the kids!”

He does; gets the bastard who shot Cobb first and the one who had the hand in the child’s hair. Gets the others after, while Mos Pelgo’s surviving adults hastily gather the children further into the school before spilling out to snatch up weapons from the bandits and join in the remaining fight.

Din gets to Cobb a few minutes later.

“Hey partner,” Cobb says again, face gone almost as grey as his hair. Eyes on the sky as Din props his head on his knees. No one has any bacta in Mos Pelgo, can’t afford it, and the local medic is lying amongst the dead further up the street. The only med kits already emptied.

Din presses his hands over the wound in Cobb’s chest, gloves dark and slick with blood, a couple of other people crowding in close to him, trying to help. Worried voices all around. The sound of the kids crying in the school.

“I’m fine,” Cobb assures any of them who seem like they’ll listen, “We’re fine, aren’t we partner; doing great.” Each breath coming shorter and faster while his body shakes a little on Din’s lap, blood soaking into both of their clothes.

“You’re not fine,” Din perhaps shouldn’t say this. How he longs to take the helmet off, longs to see Cobb properly, longs for Cobb to see him.

But perhaps Cobb has better things to see while he’s dying.

“Hey,” Cobb just about manages to raise a hand to Din’s wrist when Din goes to drag the helmet off even so; unclear if he’s stopping or encouraging him. His voice a ragged whisper, “Din. Hey. We did it. It’s okay.”

“Mando, he’s –” An elderly hand grips Din’s shoulder with surprising strength. He wants to shove it away. Wants to scoop Cobb up and get him onto the ship, fly him out of here, fly them both somewhere the other man can be saved. Tries to find the words to tell Cobb this.

To tell Cobb everything he’s so far failed to say.

“He’s gone,” The voice continues, pain in it, pain tinged with an acceptance Din doesn’t feel, “He’s gone, Mando. He’s gone.”

“No,” Din says as he lowers his hand from his helmet, “ _No_.”

But the old woman’s right. He is.

+1

They hold the funeral as the suns set.

The pyre burns bright against the darkening sky, the last of several to be lit. A number of Tuskens appear some hours into it, drawn by the smoke, having held back from joining the battle. Din speaks to them a little, enough to establish that they had been busy protecting their own children from a similar threat and so unable to provide aid, that the attacks had been coordinated, that the bandits had in fact been a gang moving in with the intent on taking over, all things he has already theorised.

The words scrape Din’s throat; he feels hollowed out from the inside. Raw with grief.

The kids are present as a sign of respect and gratitude, clinging onto their caretaker’s hands and clothes. Watching the pyres burn solemnly or sitting together hand in hand, playing whispered games in the sand, before the adults usher them inside. Din almost can’t bear to watch them, thinking of his own lost little one. Knowing Cobb wouldn’t regret for one minute the fact he died so they could live.

The Tuskens depart sometime later. Din thinks of his speeder, thinks of his ship. Thinks of the weapons used and the words exchanged and the fact it was all a setup by those out to steal his armour. Thinks of all the times he failed to take his helmet off, of all the things they didn’t say.

Thinks of all the times he failed to save Cobb.

He wakes abruptly in his chair on the ship, jolted into wakefulness by the radio crackling to life. A sense of extreme disorientation assaulting him at first, so hard his hands shake. Aside from nightmares of his parents’ death, he doesn’t tend to dream. Certainly not that vividly or in so many ways.

But he’s had this dream so many times now, slightly different each time but ultimately the same. And Cobb always dies in it.

_“Hey partner,”_ The sound of his voice, even almost lost to static as it is when Din thumbs on the radio, is enough to make his eyes sting, raising a lump in his throat. Enough to almost break him.

_Cobb._ Din swallows, striving to make himself speak normally. A tiny smile tugging helplessly at one corner of his lips for the other man regardless of everything else, born of the relief that it hasn’t happened yet; that they have time. Tries again, “Cobb.”

How to tell Cobb of the dreams, of the danger he can’t help but feel sure is coming? Where to start?

“ _Looks like we’re about to end up with a bit of a situation going on down here_ ,” Cobb says before he can work out what to say, and an icy fist closes around Din’s heart. But the other man sounds confident, “ _But I’ve had everyone prepare for this; we’ve got it in hand. Got the feeling it might be a setup to tell you the truth, so don’t you worry yourself about rushing here, partner, okay?_ ”

“I’m still coming,” Din tells him, “They’re going to target the school.”

“ _Yeah, reckoned sooner or later some damned bastards might_ ,” To Din’s intense relief, Cobb doesn’t doubt him, doesn't question this. Takes it seriously and carries on, “ _Got those who need to be moved to – well, I won’t say where – and everyone else ready to act as defence. Got me some good stuff to act as a further deterrent too, if it’s needed. Think they might be hacking the comms though, so I’ll stop there, except to say –”_

He proceeds to curse the predicted listeners-in out in a really rather impressive amount of detail as Din listens while readying himself as needed for the battle to come, adjusting the course to take the ship down to Mos Pelgo. The static clearing up as they go, letting him come to hear Cobb loud and clear.

_“Hey partner?”_ Cobb finishes just before Din has to switch off the comm, preparing the ship to land, “ _Got something I want to tell you when you’re here_.”

“I look forward to hearing it,” Din can’t keep his smile from sounding in his voice, “I’ve - well. There’s something I’d like to show you, if you would like to see.” He touches gloved fingers to the brim of the helmet, although Cobb can’t see him. Thinks of looking at him directly and Cobb looking back. Thinks of kissing him, hand in ungloved hand.

“ _Yeah?_ ” Cobb’s tone goes all warm and rich like golden sunlight, filled with clear anticipation even over the comm, “ _You know, I reckon I might just like that._ ” 

“I hope so,” For all there’s going to be a battle ahead of them, Din’s heart feels lighter than it has in a long time. He gets the ship down, leaping off the ramp before it’s finished lowering.

Goes to stand next to Cobb on the sand.


End file.
